


catch me if you can

by you_idjits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 10, Communication, Dean fucks up, Human Castiel, I feel like that could be a tag on literally all of my fics though, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 08:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4514664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_idjits/pseuds/you_idjits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a fight, Cas runs away. Dean follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	catch me if you can

Cas says, “I love you.”

Dean says, “No.”

“Dean, what do you–”

“No,” he repeats, with certainty. He presses his hands against the edge of the counter until the knuckles go white. “You don’t mean that.”

They are standing in the middle of the kitchen. Cas is wearing Dean’s flannel shirt and Dean’s heavy boots and he hasn’t shaved in days. When he first gave up his grace to save Dean from the Mark, Dean couldn’t get his head around it. Couldn’t understand how or why Cas could become human. But now he is staring at Cas, who looks more human than ever, and Cas is telling Dean that he loves him.

“You’re just saying that,” Dean says. “You must have– hit your head. You’re confused.”

“I’m not confused about this.”

“Cas.” Dean feels his heart pounding against his ribs, because Cas is saying things that can’t be said, they can’t, they just can’t. “Listen. You’re confused. You just fell, and human emotions are overwhelming, and you– you’ve probably just imprinted, or whatever. Like a baby duck. You don’t l– I mean, you can’t l– just, no, okay?”

He doesn’t look at Cas. He stares at the cold steel of the kitchen counter and tries very hard not to look at Cas.

“Dean,” Cas says, and _shit_ , he sounds fucking _heartbroken_.

Dean says nothing. Cas takes a step towards him, then stops.

“What do you want from me?” Dean snaps, turning finally to meet Cas’s eyes. “You want me to say it back? You want me to tell you that I– that all this time– what did you think I would say, Cas?”

Cas’s eyes are blue, and wide with fear. “Why are you angry with me?”

“Because you can’t just– you can’t go around saying these things to people! To me!” Dean rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck, Cas, we don’t live in some kind of rom-com world where everything turns out for the best. Don’t you get that? We don’t live in a world where you and I– we just don’t, okay?”

“Dean,” Cas says, and reaches out a hand to curl into the collar of his shirt. It’s such a tender gesture, like Cas actually _means_ what he’s saying, and Dean flinches. He shoves Cas away, harder than he means to.

Cas stumbles. He trips over a chair and crashes to the floor. When he cries out in pain, Dean’s heart shoots through with fear like lightning.

“Cas!” He staggers forward, reaching out. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to–”

But Cas is getting to his feet, looking at Dean with wounded eyes, cradling his left wrist to his chest. He doesn’t say anything, but he backs away from Dean.

Sam comes thundering down the hall. “Guys? I heard a crash, what’s–”

“We’re fine,” Dean says, eyes still locked on Cas.

“Oh, good,” Sam says, just as Cas turns around and bolts out of the room.

Dean almost goes after him, but stops himself. He palms his jaw, roughly. “Ah, fuck,” he says. This is not how he expected this morning to go.

“What’s up with him?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know,” Dean lies. “I should probably go after him.” He sighs, then heads down to the main room. Sam follows at his heels. When they get there, the door to the Bunker is wide open, and then they hear the engine of a car, and then tires on gravel.

“Dean,” Sam says, “what just happened?”

Dean stares at the door, gaping open like the hole in his chest.

“Dean. Where’s Cas going?”

Cas is long gone.

Sam steps into Dean’s line of vision, waving a hand. “Dude, what did you say to him?”

Cas said, _I love you_ , and Dean said, _No._

Dean turns around and walks to his room. He slams the door. He digs out an unopened bottle of whiskey from under his bed and drinks it down.

 **

Three days pass. Cas doesn’t come back. Dean drinks, and drinks some more, and pretends everything is fine. Sam asks a lot of questions, but doesn’t get a lot of answers. Finally, he leaves for a salt-and-burn in Nebraska, and Dean has the whole Bunker to himself. It’s very big, and very empty, and very lonely. Dean gets very drunk, and calls Cas twelve or thirteen times. The first six times, it rings and rings before clicking to the machine. After that, Cas turns his phone off.

Sam comes back in the morning and gently takes the empty bottle from Dean’s hand. He pushes Dean into a shower, makes him toast, gives him Advil. He knows something’s wrong, of course he does, but he doesn’t say anything until Dean is fully sober and awake.

“You have to tell me what happened,” Sam says. They’re sitting in the library now, across from each other, like an interrogation. Or an intervention.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Dean says.

“Tell me anyway.”

Dean rests his forehead on the table. “Cas told me he loved me,” he says, after a long silence.

“Oh,” Sam says. “Oh, okay. That’s– I mean, we knew that was coming, right? That’s not so… what did you say?”

“I told him he was wrong.”

“You told him he was wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“And then he left?”

Dean sighs. He turns his head to the side, so his cheek digs into the edge of the table. “Well, I pushed him first. Probably broke his wrist or something.”

“You–” Sam chokes. He gets to his feet, chair scraping against the floor, and begins pacing. “Dean, what were you thinking?”

“It was an accident,” Dean says. “I mean, kind of. I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“You told him he was wrong for loving you, but you didn’t mean to hurt him? _Dean_.”

That wasn’t what Dean meant, but when Sam phrases it that way it stings. He sits up straight. “Dude, I didn’t think– I mean, there’s no way he– he didn’t _mean_ it, obviously. He was just saying things.”

“It’s been five days, and you still think he didn’t mean it?”

Dean puts his hands over his face. “Sam, come on.”

“Dean. Seriously. He loves you, and you know that.”

“Bullshit.”

“Just think about it for a minute. Imagine if you were in his place. Imagine if _you’d_ told _him_ , and he just said you were wrong, that you didn’t know what you were talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Dean says again. “I mean, what I feel, that doesn’t… that’s not changing. I know what I feel. It’s him, _he’s_ the one who’s mixed up, _he’s_ the one who…”

Sam raises an eyebrow. He waits.

Dean blinks. Once, twice, three times.

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You’re a horrible person.”

“I have to go after him.”

“He’s got a five day head start.”

“Sam. _Sam_.” Dean jerks to his feet. “You don’t understand, I have to go after him. He thinks I– he thinks I don’t–”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “I know, go, get your stuff and get your car. Go after him.”

Dean makes for the door, but he falters. He looks back at his brother. “What if he… Sam, what if he’s done something stupid? What if I can’t find him?”

“Just go,” Sam says. “Worry about that later.”

Dean goes.

 **

He heads west; he thinks that’s where Cas would go. Maybe back to Rexford, Idaho. That’s where Cas went the last time Dean pushed him out of the Bunker. It would make sense. There would be irony in that.

This time, Dean’s going to say something. He’s going to manhandle Cas back into the Impala and take him home.

Dean drives deep into the night, working his way through three cups of coffee and one of those five-hour energy things. He makes it last seven hours. When dawn starts to break open against the horizon, he pulls over to the shoulder, flips up the collar of his jacket, and naps in the driver’s seat for two hours. He wakes up with a sore neck and starts driving again.

With all those long hours alone in the car, his mind starts turning against him. What if Cas has done something stupid? What if he’s hurt himself? What if demons find him, or worse, angels? Dean shouldn’t have waited for five days. He was stupid and foolish to wait that long. Cas might be dead in a gutter somewhere and it would be Dean’s fault, Dean’s fault because he said no. Cas said, _I love you_ , and Dean said, _No._

Dean hates himself. But that’s nothing new.

He pulls over at a gas station in Wyoming – a fucking Gas-n-Sip, of course. Cas won’t pick up when he calls, because Cas knows his number. So he finds an honest-to-God payphone, digs around for a quarter for two, and dials. He knows Cas’s number too, of course. Like he knows his own heartbeat.

The phone rings. The line clicks.

Cas says, “Hello?”

Relief washes over him, cold and soothing. “Cas, thank God,” he says.

Cas says nothing.

Dean wants to say, _I thought you were dead, I was so scared, terrified._ But Cas says nothing and Dean chokes on the words. The silence hangs between them.

Cas ends the call.

Dean slams the phone back into the cradle with enough force to break it. He kicks the stand, for good measure. So he’s got nothing.

He keeps driving.

Sam calls the next morning, opening with, “I talked to Cas.”

Dean’s heartbeat picks up; the speedometer edges over eighty. “He picked up his phone?”

“You sound surprised. You’ve tried calling him?”

“I don’t think he wants to talk to me,” Dean says, and he know he sounds bitter but he doesn’t care.

“No kidding. I mentioned you and he almost hung up on the spot.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. It’s bad. Dean, maybe it’s better if you–”

“So what did you guys talk about.”

“Uh. He called me. Wanted advice on a case.”

“He’s hunting?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. Something small, vengeful spirit I think. I don’t think he wants me telling you but I’m telling you anyway because… well, I don’t know. Maybe it’ll help you find him.”

Dean clenches his hands on the wheel. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

So now he’s got something. Not much, but it’s something. He stops at a diner for lunch and scans the major newspapers for all the states west of the Mississippi. It takes hours, but he doesn’t mind. The waitress brings him refills on his coffee. Around six, she unwinds her apron and sits down across from him.

“What’re you looking for?” she asks, picking up _The Seattle Times_.

“A friend.”

“In the newspapers?”

“Kind of.” Dean glances up. She’s pretty, with red lipstick and too much mascara. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail but a few strands have fallen out. Her nametag reads _Cassie_ and he almost laughs. But then he doesn’t. He thinks of Cas. He says, “Um. No. That’s not right. He’s not a friend, he’s my… I don’t know. He’s my friend, but he loves me, and I– it’s complicated. He ran off and I have to find him and tell him he was wrong. About me. Or that he was right. I don’t know. I have to make things right between us.”

She nods like she gets it, which is weird because what he just said made literally no sense. She purses her lips. “So what are you looking for in these papers?”

It’s late at night and she seems like a woman who can handle things. So he says, “Weird deaths. Like, freak accidents and shit.”

“Because your friend’s a serial killer?”

“No, it’s just…” He throws up his hands.

She laughs. “Okay. Which ones do you still need to read?”

He points to the stack, and she starts reading.

 **

 

The work goes faster with two; Dean finds a hunt that seems right by midnight. He thanks her, tips generously, and runs for his car. He pushes ninety the whole way to Oregon.

After that it’s fast. Dean asks around; everyone remembers the Fed with the blue eyes and the beige Continental.

So it takes him three days, in total, to find Cas. He finds Cas in a small cabin on the Oregon coast, right up against the ocean. He parks the car in the driveway but doesn’t get out, not for several long minutes. He has to take a lot of deep breaths.

 _Man up, Winchester._ He tucks his keys into his pocket and gets out of the car.

Cas opens the door just before he knocks. It’s scary, almost; Dean’s got his hand inches from the door and then– there Cas is. Blue eyes, brown beard, worn flannel, weary frown.

“How did you find me?”

“I,” Dean says, very eloquently. “Can I come in?”

Cas opens the door wider and steps away. The room is small, rustic, with a bed and a kitchen and not much else. There’s a double-barreled shotgun on the bed, halfway loaded. It’s Dean’s shotgun. He must have left it in the Continental after the last hunt they went on together.

Together. Right. Dean’s here for a reason.

“So I fucked up,” he says.

Cas looks at him. He blinks.

“I mean,” Dean says, “you tried to tell me something and I was being stubborn. And stupid. God, I was being so stupid, Cas, you don’t even know.”

“Yes,” Cas says, “I actually do know.”

It’s at that moment that Dean realizes Cas is wearing a cast on his left wrist.

He should probably say something like, _I’m sorry_ , or, _I didn’t mean to hurt you,_ or, _I get now that you meant what you said and I was being a dick._

Instead, he says, “I love you.”

Cas looks surprised for half a second, then composes himself.

“I thought you knew,” Dean says. “I thought it was obvious. And then I realized maybe you didn’t, maybe you ran because you thought your feelings were… you know. Unreciprocated. Well, they’re not.”

“You said my feelings were irrational.”

“They are. Or, I mean, they feel that way to me. I don’t get how you can… you know.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah. That. I look at myself and I still see the demon I was. I’m a piece of shit, Cas. And as proven by the last few days, I’m not good at dealing with my feelings. I’m not good at, at, at relationships or any of the crap. So I don’t know why you’d want to be with me.” He rubs a hand over his face. “But even so, I– I want to be with you. Even though you’re probably angry at me.”

“Of course I’m angry with you,” Cas says. “The way you treated me is not the way you treat someone you love. You can be bad at relationships, or bad at dealing with your feelings, but you are not allowed to do what you did. You are not allowed to physically hurt me. You are not allowed to tell me that I am wrong for loving you. Okay?”

 “Okay.” He clenches his jaw.

“Besides,” Cas says, “I look at you and I see your soul. So believe me when I say my love for you is entirely justified.”

Dean flinches, though he’s not sure why. He takes a deep breath. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

Something in the space between them softens.

“Dean,” Cas says, “I love you.”

Dean reaches forward, hands searching. Blind, numb. But not deaf. No, he hears Cas’s words loud and clear. He puts his hands on Cas’s jaw and pulls him closer, kisses him sweetly. Cas smells like the Pacific Ocean.

When they break apart, Dean says, “I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, it's been a while. And this is probably it for me for a while. I'm trying to take a step back from my fandom life and focus more on my real life, which has been very good for me. But it also means less new fic for you guys. This had been in my drafts folder for a while, though, so I wanted to put it out there.  
> Thanks to Tasha and Onja for betaing, even after months of inactivity.
> 
> You can listen to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=agZek9y33R4) and cry, if you want.
> 
> Crossposted on [tumblr](http://shootingstarcas.tumblr.com/post/126036042621/catch-me-if-you-can-after-a-fight-cas-runs-away).


End file.
